So...the arrests have started this week. About time.
Shall nev'r beest a true maiden. Hast thou neither womb nor ovary, nor
eggs. Art thou a catamite fiend twist'd by foul perversion of
chigureon's art to crude fleer'ry of God's p'rfection.
Allsuch
validation as thou receivest like unto Janus' own, and tepid to boot.
'Pon thy hind, good folk fleer. Art thy good father and kind mother in
troth disguste'd and in shame of thee. Thy friends doth make sport of
thy hideous countenance 'twixt themselves.
By thee art all of Adam's
sons utt'rly repuls'd. Our God didst fortuitously permit all menfolk to
divine thy fraud with wondrous efficiency. If by trickery, thou pas't
'pon occasion, all gentle folk would 'pon closer examination revile
thee. By the Creator's arrangement, thy very bones doth betray thee. And
'pon chance thou pliest with drink an unfortunate companion to thy
fetid bed, 'twould soonest fly as smelt thy diseas'd, fest'ring wound
thou cherish in mockery of true woman.
Joy shall likewise escape
thee. 'Pon waking, thou paint 'pon thy face insincere frippery, but
inside thy heart, parlous despair circles like Leviathan, eft t' crush
thee und'r the unbearable weight.
'Twill in the end be too much to
bear - willst thou procure firm rope, mock the hangman's noble art, and
plunge into the bitter abyss of death, to spend thy days better
cavorting with thy devilish masters. Thy parent shall occasion upon thy
empty shell and weep, caught 'twixt heartbreak and relief that the shame
thou bringst them has, anon, abated. Thy headstone shall reflect thy
given name, and hist'ry shall record thee a man. As worms and creatures
of the earth feast on thy unholy corpse, thy bones will betray thee
again - unmistak'bly like unto Adam's.
'Tis thy fate, self-appointed. Ne'er shall thee revoke it.
Amen.
(hey, it's funny. The Kommila is a satanic, demonic, freak and I'm here to spell it any way possible, even with some Olde Englishe, until we all see and understand. DB)
